


Siren

by i_ship_an_armada



Series: Inevitable [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Flint is too stubborn for his own good, Frottage, John Silver is a Little Shit, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unresolved Sexual Tension, at least for one of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:31:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_ship_an_armada/pseuds/i_ship_an_armada
Summary: Flint finds Silver on the beach, and suddenly, he's not so angry anymore.Can be read as a standalone, but technically is a sequel to Diluted.





	Siren

“God_ damn _ it!” Flint bellows, looking around him at the disaster of a mess tent. “Does anyone know where the fuck Silver is?” He kicks at an overturned pot, the remnants of this morning’s substandard breakfast for the men already gathering a healthy legion of insects. Looking around, Flint’s lip curls in distaste at the disorganization, the carelessness shown in Silver’s duties. 

He is going to fucking kill him.

“Went down that way a bit.” Muldoon waves a hand toward the curve in the beach. “Past the boulders I guess.” 

With a growl, Flint stalks off, beyond the crush of tents and smelly, foul-mouthed men, and over the white sugar soft sand. The teal water, clear as glass, rush over the sand and back again. Flint notices none of the beauty around him as his mood grows more foul with every step.

Sweat rolls down his back, under his shirt and coat, and does nothing to cool him off in this godawful heat.

His temper is at an all time high when he rounds the corner to a small, secluded cove. 

He stops in his tracks and gapes, glad Silver faces away from him as he struggles to control his response.

Silver is naked and stands in the surf, hands on his hips, his hair loose about his shoulders. It floats and waves, wispy, in the breeze coming from the east as he surveys the horizon, and Flint wonders what he stares at, his own gaze following the line of Silver’s until he sees.

Ah. 

Whales breach in the distance, their flukes breaking the surface as they twist and turn. They play, two adults and a youth, and for a short while, Flint and Silver watch the same scene.

Flint’s attention is drawn back to Silver as Silver takes several steps farther into the surf, his fingers now drifting through the water, then they curl into cups to splash water over his tanned skin. 

It dawns on Flint Silver is not pale anywhere, and his pulse quickens. Just how often does Silver do this? How often does he escape the group to strip down to his skin and swim in the nude?

Flint is drawn forward and closes the distance by half before he stops. The noise of the waves surely masks the sound of his approach, and yet Silver stills and turns his head to the side, showing on his profile he hears Flint anyway. 

Both of them stay silent, Silver waiting and Flint admiring the angles of his shoulders and his backside while fighting a battle inside his own head.

Danger. It is dangerous to be here right now.

Just then, Silver looks over his shoulder like a siren, his eyes as blue as the sea that laps at the swell of his arse, and his brow raises in silent challenge before turning and diving into the shallow oncoming wave. He doesn’t go far, just far enough to take Flint a moment to flick his eyes over the surface of the water when the reflection obscures his movement. 

When he comes up for a breath, though, and stands, dear God, but Flint is a doomed man. 

The water falls off Silver’s skin in rivulets as he lifts his arms to slick his hair back from his face and then winds it haphazardly in a tail over his shoulder. His back still to Flint, but knowing he still stands there, he says, “It’s too hot for that many clothes, Captain. Why don’t you come in?”

Flint says nothing in return. He cannot, because if he opens his mouth in that moment, it will be to say something he cannot take back.

After a beat of silence, Silver looks back again with a half smile. “Suit yourself,” he calls and dives into the water again. Flint watches him. Silver swims like he was born for swimming, with long, strong strokes that pull him out further and then parallel to the shore. When Flint thinks back to the first time he’d seen him swim after he had jumped from the _ Walrus_’ rail, he wonders when he had the time to practice to improve so much.

And then Flint frowns and remembers why he is there. He takes several purposeful strides, stopping at the edge of the surf. When Silver takes a breath, Flint bellows, “Silver! Get the fuck out of the water!” 

Silver hears him, and Flint _ knows _ he hears him, because as he turns to come closer to where Flint stands, he grins, even as he swims.

Five powerful strokes later and he rises out of the water like Poseidon, the water worshipping him as it slides away. Flint foolishly wonders what he’d look like with a crown of shells on his head and a trident in his hand before he whisks the thought away as quickly as it comes, as if he could deny it ever existed. 

Silver straightens to stand directly before Flint, unabashedly naked and unbearably close. From where he stands, Flint sees the pink in Silver’s cheeks and the tips of his ears and the droplets of water clinging to the edge of his beard like diamonds. 

“I’m sorry, Captain. Did you say something?”

“You left the mess tent in a fucking disas— “ Flint starts, determined to ignore the obvious flirtation, but stops cold as Silver reaches up to do that thing with his hair again, twisting it into a coil, but this time he turns it on the top of his head like a high chignon and holds it there with his fingers, every bit of him on display to the best advantage, Silver rolls his head this way and that, as if he needs to loosen the muscles of his neck, and Flint forgets the next words he plans on saying in favor of trying and failing not to rake his eyes down Silver’s body.

And Silver wants him to look, this much is clear, so who is Flint to deny him such a thing?

Lean and fit, Silver’s broad shoulders taper down to a narrow waist. Flint pictures the spread of his hands around that waist and how his thumbs could sink into his flesh to leave their mark. Smooth skin, free of scars and tattoos sailors typically have, gleams golden in the sunlight, highlighting the definition of Silver’s Adonis’ line. Flint’s eyes follow the line of his hip to the short dark curls surrounding his cock. 

“I’ll make sure I get to it as soon as I can,” Silver says. His voice is low and his tone indicates he does not have any intention of hurrying.

Flint’s eyes snap up, and though his heart pounds beneath his shirt, he lets his lip curl in a snarl. “I’ll not have you shirk your duties, Silver. You may be a shit cook, but you sure as hell know how to clean dishes properly, and I expect you to do it.”

Silver steps into his space, within touching distance, and Flint’s hands twitch at his side. 

Silver hums. “Oh, yes, _ sir _.”

The way he says it catches Flint in the belly, hot and hard and fast, and he has to tense not to reach up and dig his fingers into Silver’s hair to pull him close. He wonders what he would taste like, his mouth, his skin, his cock, and his mind skips to what he saw at the brothel with Silver and the red-headed whore.

Flint tries to push it out of his mind, as he had been doing for days now, but he is too late.

Silver sees the raw, desperate hunger in his eyes before he can hide it.

Flint makes a sound, or at least he is sure he does, though he doesn’t hear himself making it, and Silver’s eyes go heavy lidded and he licks his lips. Then he says, “Do you have anything else you would like to command me to do..._ Captain? _”

The moment hangs suspended between them, expectant and heavy, and Flint looks down between them again. 

Silver’s cock thickens and begins to rise as he watches. There is a vein curving over the shaft to hide underneath and he wants to trace it with his tongue to find its end.

His breath leaves him in a rush, but this time he brings his eyes up slow, dragging them along Silver’s belly where the muscles twitch as if Flint actually touches him. A flush begins to color Silver’s chest, dusky pink and spread out like an angel’s wings to curl around his small brown nipples. Flint tracks it where it reaches Silver’s neck, not quite at his face yet, and then raises his eyes the rest of the way to meet Silver’s.

He will not give in to this, cannot give in to this, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little amusement along the way.

Silver’s eyes, still heavy lidded, glitter and catch the light, though his pupils dilate to nearly eclipse the blue. 

Flint lets his lips part, and then curl into a smile, one where he shows a lot of teeth, and he is both impressed and a little surprised Silver does not show any flicker of fear, as most do when Flint knowingly uses this grin. He means it to be intimidating, but Silver, of course, contrary in every way, is not cowed. Instead, he moves a half step closer, and Flint nearly crumbles when he feels the bump of Silver’s stiff cock against his thigh. 

Silver plays a dangerous game, but he plays with the master of games, and a man who refuses to lose.

“Oh, there are plenty of commands I would like to give you, Mr. Silver,” Flint rumbles.

Silver’s breath goes uneven and his cock twitches, but Flint refuses to reach for it with his hands. He is still as much as he can be, though his fingers curl into fists now and his own cock will not behave.

It throbs within his trousers. 

“I am willing to bet I can take them and follow them to the letter.” There is blatant innuendo there, meant to be heard, and Silver dares to raise his hand to trace the edge of Flint’s belt with a finger. 

The pull to angle his hips forward into Silver’s feather light touch nearly overwhelms Flint, so instead he grabs Silver’s wrist in a firm grip to halt his advance. Rapid flutters of Silver’s heartbeat tease the pads of Flint’s fingers and he wonders how hard he could make that heart pound. 

Will he be able to see Silver’s pulse in his neck when he comes? Flint had been too far away in the brothel to see properly, and now he needs to know.

“You don’t follow any of my orders to the letter,” Flint says. “I think we have established that, have we not?”

Silver’s grin goes wide. “If it is the right one, I will.”

The implication of that does not escape Flint. As a matter of fact, at the words, a great variety of orders file through his mind like soldiers on parade, each one more decadent and filthy than the last.

“But you must understand, Mr. Silver, that as your Captain, I give the orders, but you may not pick and choose the commands you follow.” Flint feels his nostrils flare, and he can smell Silver now, warm skin and salt from the sea. It is like a drug and he fights it. “You play with fire.”

Silver pauses, considering, and then licks his lips. “Fire heats when there is cold, forges new things out of old, lights the way. I am not afraid of fire.”

Impudent bastard.

“Fire burns when you get too close.”

“Am I too close?” Silver teases.

_ No. _

“Yes.” 

Flint fails to notice until this moment Silver’s wrist has turned in his grip and his fingers curl around Flint’s own wrist. It is a certainty Silver feels the thrumming of Flint’s heart just as surely as if it is his own. Silver inches forward until there is scant distance between them, though they continue to touch only at two points, their wrists and Silver’s cock to Flint’s thigh. 

The heat rolls off Silver in waves as he turns his face up, offering but not taking, and his breath ghosts over Flint’s skin. 

Flint feels tight all over and he cannot help himself when he presses his leg forward. When Silver shudders and his eyes fall shut, Flint whispers, “Go on, then. See if you get burned.” He does not mean for it to sound seductive. Or perhaps he does. He is already lost in this and he does not know anymore.

Silver raises his other hand to curl into Flint’s coat, but Flint captures that wrist as well and holds both hands away. To have Silver touch him any more than he already does would break Flint’s control, and that cannot happen.

Eyes opening, Silver begins to protest, twisting a bit in Flint’s grip, but Flint squeezes his fingers while at the same time nudges his thigh forward.

Silver gets the message and sucks in a ragged breath, even as a flash of disappointment flits over his face, but he recovers quickly and moves his hips, dragging his cock on the material of Flint’s trousers. He straddles Flint's leg and presses his groin tight to Flint with a breathy moan.

The heat along Flint’s leg is scorching.

Silver undulates again, and then again, rutting, and all the while he and Flint stare at one another. Blue, blue eyes flick to Flint’s mouth, and he knows well Silver wants to kiss him, but Flint will not allow it and Silver does not try.

For several minutes, skin catches on fabric and all Flint can hear is the rushing of blood in his head, all he can feel is the heat of Silver’s cock against his thigh and the thundering pulse under his fingers. The flush rises to Silver’s face and finally his eyelids close and he tilts his head back as he abandons whatever game he is playing to take his pleasure.

His adam’s apple bobs as he moans through parted lips and Flint makes the mistake of turning his attention downward, his intention to only tear his eyes away from the ecstasy stamped on Silver’s face and the expanse of flesh at his neck.

Ruddy with blood, Silver’s cock is as perfect close up as is was from several feet away in the brothel. The head, exposed and darker than the rest, leaks from the tip, and Flint’s shaft strains now against the placket of his trousers, untouched and aching. 

Silver’s bollocks pull tight to his groin as Flint watches and his breathing turns erratic. He struggles feebly against Flint’s hold, as if he cannot help himself as he nears his end. 

Beautiful. Erotic. And Flint knows if he gives in to what he truly wants in this moment, he will be lost and Silver will be the end of him, one way or another.

And so he resists, or at least his mind does, and most of his body, but he seems to have little to no control over his cock and insistent coiling desire pulling at his belly. 

“C’mon,” Flint rasps, his entire frame trembling with barely grasped control and he knows Silver feels it through Flints hands, his thigh.

Silver lets out a strangled, keening cry as he comes, and James watches as Silver’s cock pulses, releasing his spend on Flint, and then smears it along the material as he continues to grind forward. The wetness seeps through the fabric and for reasons unknown to Flint, it is this sensation that nearly tips him over the edge, nearly ruining his determination to not yank Silver’s naked body against his own and _ take. _

Flint grits his teeth and raises his eyes, wanting to see up close Silver’s face in the midst of all of this, and is not disappointed. 

Contorted in the pleasure of his orgasm, Silver’s expression is something Flint will never forget, though in the coming days he will certainly try. 

The rush of blood through his veins sounds loud, but is now mingled with the cacophony of their breathing and Flint forgets what silence sounds like.

Silver shudders and ruts in a few more uneven thrusts before he gasps one final time, his chest heaving, his lips parted. When he stills, his breath stills with him and he opens his eyes.

Sweat beads along his brow, over the bridge of his nose, and a slow smile spreads over his lips like a cat who has finished a bowl of cream. His grin highlights the flush that is now all over his face. He glances down, pointedly, at Flint’s tented trousers and leans forward.

Flint leans back, drops his wrists, and steps away.

He sees the second flash of disappointment from Silver that day, but steels himself against it. To watch Silver take his pleasure is one thing, but to take his own meant to lower barriers he could not afford to compromise. 

Silver, to his credit, relaxes his hands to his sides and makes no more move, other than to angle his head. 

Apropos of nothing, Flint notices how Silver’s toes curl in the sand and how drops of water fall from the ends of his hair to roll down his hip.

“I seem to have survived unburnt, Captain. But can you say the same?” Silver asks, his voice low and rough, though the smile still curves his lips and puts tiny creases at the edge of his eyes.

Through his teeth, Flint growls, his patience and his need pushed to their limits. “Consider me fucking fireproof.”

Silver blinks and then laughs, and Flint goes hot as his cock leaps at the sound and leaks within its containment. He ignores it. 

“Point taken,” Silver says and there is a knowing gleam in his eye that Flint does not like, but he is too distracted by his lust to argue against it. Instead, the urgency to get the fuck away from Silver is first and foremost in his mind. 

But he will not run.

He takes the tail of the scarf wrapped around his waist under his belt and swipes at the trail of come on his thigh, catching the remaining spend on the edge of his thumb. This he does not wipe off. Silver watches this with an inscrutable expression and says nothing more. Flint wants to erase the look from his face but does not trust himself to say another word. Instead, he pivots on his heel and stalks away to leave Silver standing alone on the beach, stomping through the sand toward camp, willing his cock to back down. 

This is to no avail, and his shaft aches as Silver’s orgasm replays itself over and over in Flint’s mind, like predator he cannot escape. 

Silver’s eyes are on Flint, and he feels the gaze on his back, but Silver says no more and lets him go without further comment. 

Flint does not raise his thumb to his mouth until he rounds the corner and he is out of sight, damning himself the moment it touches his tongue, because now he knows what Silver tastes like.

And he wants more.

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo... I didn't really intend to connect this with Diluted, but I did. And I didn't mean for there to be any sex at all in this--only some serious UST--but OOPS, it happened. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> I did not run this through a beta, so if there are any glaring mistakes, please let me know!
> 
> As a side note, I am cackling that John Silver is a Little Shit is actually a tag. Never stop, fandom. I heart you!


End file.
